


The Scarlet Ibis

by gunophilia



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Body Horror, Drama, Horror, Implied Sexual Content, Mild Gore, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 17:45:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10904289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunophilia/pseuds/gunophilia
Summary: Jessica hung herself. That was all there was to it.





	The Scarlet Ibis

**Author's Note:**

> I've been dying to write this ever since I finished the game. My interpretation on what happened that fateful night.

At night, school seemed to be a different place entirely.

Devoid of students or faculty, the fluorescent lights seemed that much more fake, the hallways that much more deep. There was a sense of eternal disquietness, like transporting into a parallel universe where you are very much alone. 

No, not alone, Blake reminded himself. Jessica was here to ease his apprehension. 

They had stayed behind after hours, hiding in the janitorial closet waiting for the student body to leave. Then they hid in the classrooms, waiting for the faculty to leave. When the coast was clear they headed straight to the kitchens and stuffed themselves with enough apple sauce to burst. 

It had been Jessica’s idea, of course. She begged Blake to stay behind with a mischievous glint in her eye. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. When he asked why she gave him a one-shouldered shrug and said, “I ‘unno.” That had been a good reason as any. 

Blake liked Lynn. Blake hoped Lynn liked him back. He thought she did, sometimes, when she dotted her ‘i’s with hearts and when she held his hand and when she coerced him to audition for the role of the Beast in the play. She was Beauty, and Blake found it fitting. 

She must have said something to Jessica, as Blake found himself at the mercy of a relentless interrogation. Blake sat with his back to the refrigerator, Jessica calling ‘dibs’ to the only chair in the room. She shot him a self-satisfied smirk. “So, Lynn says you haven’t even kissed her yet,” she said, catching Blake completely off guard.

“What?” Blake said.

“Like in Beauty and the Beast.” 

“Oh, you mean drama. The play. Um.” The truth was, Blake was too shy to kiss her. Whenever they got to that scene in the rehearsals, he felt a ticklish, fluttery feeling in his stomach and his lips would clamp up. He’d flaked and kissed her on the cheek the first time, and now that seemed the norm. “We’re saving for the, like, actual night.” 

That wasn’t a lie, Blake had been hoping to gather enough courage to kiss Lynn on the lips during the performance, yet worry gnawed at him. What if he messed up in front of hundreds of people? What if he was a bad kisser? What if it was awkward? Blake didn’t think he could live with it.

Jessica gave him a smirk. “Uh-huh.”

“We are!”

She raised her hands placatingly but her tone suggested she didn’t believe him. “O _kay_.”

“We, like… cheek kiss.” 

Jessica leaned over to him, the smirk never going away. “So. Like... is she your girlfriend?” She stood from the chair and hovered over Blake. “Tell me or else.” 

Blake had the gall to ask, “or else what?” which had been exactly what she had been waiting for. In one swift movement, she straddled Blake, pinning him to the floor. She took his wrists with her hands and Blake fought back half-heartedly, the laughter bubbling in his throat making him weak. 

She laughed too: a high, melodic sound. “Ha ha! I’m beating you.” 

Blake didn’t feel any shame in losing to Jessica. She was bigger than him, stronger, and more sadistic. “Oka— Get off! Get off me! Stop!” Blake’s muscles became tired and his stomach hurt from laughing too hard. He let his arms fall limp at his sides, Jessica’s tight grip holding them in place. 

“You have to tell me.”

Blake couldn’t tell her because he didn’t know the answer himself. “Get off of me!” 

“Not unless you answer.” 

“No!” 

“Fine. Then you have to give up. If you say I win, I’ll let you up.” 

Blake’s relief left him in an exhale. “Okay.”

“You have to say it!” She insisted.

“You win! Okay?” 

She gave him a last, long look before she let go of him. “You’re such a pushover, Blake.” 

Blake got up immediately, not wanting to give her another chance to torture him. She took his hand and led him out of the kitchens. 

Holding Jessica’s hand was different from holding Lynn’s, though Blake didn’t know why. Maybe that was because Jessica was his best friend. He was fond of her—they had met in first grade and became inseparable ever since. 

They wandered the halls, hand by hand, and Blake felt comfort in the warmth of her skin, despite the unsettling chill that came from being in the school at night. Everything seemed lifeless, static. Like the whole world had stopped spinning just for this moment. Jessica didn’t show a hint of fear, though. Moving through the halls as confidently as she had that morning.

“I don’t know why you have to be so precious about it,” she spoke through the silence.

A thought occurred to him. “Did… Lynn ask you to ask me?” Did she really like him back? Was she as unsure as he was, so she sent Jessica to ask him? Butterflies returned to his stomach.

Jessica rolled her eyes. “I asked first. So?” 

She wasn’t going to relent. He answered truthfully. “I don’t know.”

“Nerd,” she teased.

“Shut up.” 

“You are.”

They fell into silence again, the sound of their school shoes clacking against the linoleum were much louder than his thoughts. The chill returned. “She said to ask, didn’t she?” He spoke to fill the silence. 

She shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. I just wanted to know.”

As good an answer as any. He squeezed her hand. “You’re a nerd too.”

She smiled fondly. “I know.”

They were quiet once again, turning the corner to find a blackened hallway. The light at the end of it seemed to far away, and Jessica rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand reassuringly. Blake bit the inside of his cheek and tried to keep his breathing in check so Jessica wouldn’t sense that he was scared.

“You think your parents are home yet?” She asked once they’d reached the light. This hallway seemed so much worse.

“No, usually not until after dinner.”

“You think I could come over?”

“Yeah, sure,” he answered automatically. Jessica was always finding ways to avoid going home for some reason. She never mentioned it, but Blake knew she didn’t like it there. He asked anyway. “Um, why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to come over?”

Same one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t know.” 

Blake left it at that, not wanting to probe. Jessica didn’t have to tell him if she didn’t want to. They were almost at the exit and Blake couldn’t wait to get out of the dark hallways and flickering lights. He was glad he only lived a few blocks away—walking back home in the dark was a nightmare. 

A door opened to his right and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Father Loutermilch, the music teacher, emerged from the room. Crap, they had been caught. Blake’s heart beat fast in his chest. Jessica shifted closer to him.

Father Loutermilch placed his hands over his hips and looked at them disapprovingly. Jessica struggled for excuses. He cut her off. “What are the two of you doing in here?”

“I’m sorry, Father Loutermilch,” said Jessica.

Blake stepped in. “We stayed after school for… journal?” His voice went up several pitches at the end, discrediting his lie. “We were just leaving.”

Father Loutermilch shook his head and placed his hand over Jessica’s shoulder. “Let’s step back into class, please.”

Something about the situation sent Blake on edge, giving him goosebumps. Jessica took his hand and for the first time Blake saw fear in her eyes. “...Blake?” Her tone made Blake all the more anxious.

Father Loutermilch sensed his hesitation and loomed over him. “You’re not in trouble yet, Blake. You don’t want to get in trouble, do you?”

“Just stay with me,” Jessica whispered, and pulled him into the music room. 

What once had been his favorite classroom now filled Blake with inexplicable fear. Everything seemed so dark and eerie. Blake didn’t want to be here, he wanted to go home. He wanted to leave. 

Father Loutermilch entered the room after them. “I want you two to tell me what you were doing in here. Were you misbehaving?” He had a red birthmark that looked far too much like a head wound. Blake always had to force himself to not stare at it. “Do I need to call your parents? Jessica, do I need to call your father again?” 

Jessica raised her hands and took a step back. “No! Please,” she whispered the last word. 

“I only want us to be friends,” said Father Loutermilch, but it sounded dishonest. “Nobody’s in trouble yet. Does one of you think you can make this right? Jessica?” Jessica had bowed her head to look at the floor. Blake had never seen her act like this. “Jessica look at me.” Father Loutermilch took her shoulders. She lifted her head up to look at him. He caressed the underline of her jaw with his finger. The intimacy made Blake tense up. “Will you pray with me? Will you help me make this right?”

This was bad. Blake couldn’t put a finger on it; like feeling bugs on your skin when they weren’t there. A pit of dread settled in his stomach, something far, far worse than when he was roaming the halls with Jessica. Cold sweat gathered in the back of his neck. 

Father Loutermilch turned to him. “Why don’t you go along, Blake?”

Blake turned his head to look at Jessica.. She was terrified—her eyes were wide as saucers and her skin was pale. “Don’t go,” her voice shook. 

Father Loutermilch looked between them. A knot appeared between his brow. “Did I interrupt something between you two?”

When Blake spoke, his voice was small. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what did you want?”

He didn’t know what Father Loutermilch was talking about. There wasn’t anything going on between him and Jessica. They were like brother and sister. Everyone knew that. 

Father Loutermilch didn’t wait for his response. “You won’t say?” He bent over so he was at eye-level with Blake. “You know, shame is a gift from God… To let you know right from wrong. And what you want is very wrong.” He stood erect once more and stepped closer, overshadowing Blake completely.

Shame? He wasn’t feeling shame. The feeling was closer to fear. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears and his heart pound so hard he felt it might burst out of his ribcage. Father Loutermilch stared him down with cold, unblinking eyes. “Go home and pray,” he said. Words that Blake always heard at mass, but never had sounded so threatening.

“Stay,” Jessica pleaded. “I want you to stay.”

Blake remained rooted to the spot. Out of fear or loyalty, he didn’t know.

“Blake, please. This is awkward enough.” Father Loutermilch showed him the door. Awkward? Was this awkward? His cheeks felt hot. A sharp pain and a metallic taste invaded his mouth; he had been biting his lip. “Nothing’s the matter, but I need you to leave us.”

 _“Don’t,”_ Jessica sounded like she was on the verge of crying. She shook her head and tried to stand closer to Blake. Father Loutermilch gently shoved her away. 

“Everything’s okay. You can leave, young man. Walk away.” Father Loutermilch laid his hand on Blake’s chest and pushed him out the door. Blake did not break eye contact with Jessica. She held his hand with both of hers, squeezing tightly enough to turn his skin white. Blake’s feet moved on their own, backwards through the door. His hand remained with Jessica, unable to let go until she did. Father Loutermilch closed the door. 

Blake stood there, staring at the wood for what felt like an eternity. He betrayed Jessica. All she asked him to do was to stay and he failed her. This hallway felt longer than the others, darker than the others. The silence was deafening. Darkness covered him like a shroud. Guilt weighed on him like a physical presence. His stomach felt like it was made from lead. Something bad was happening. And he couldn’t do anything except pray. 

_Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou are with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me._

His fingers were wrapped around the cool handle of the exit door when he heard a sound that shook him to the core. A piercing scream rang out through the empty halls, echoing painfully in Blake’s skull. Jessica. Jessica. _Jessica._

Without hesitation, Blake turned on his heel and ran as fast as his legs could take him. Back to the music room, back to Father Loutermilch. His heart was pounding loud enough that he could hear it, his breaths short, his footsteps quick. Her screams became more frantic. _“Help me! Blake! Blake! No! No!”_ Father Loutermilch’s shadow stalked past at the end of the hall. Blake ran faster. _“Help! Somebody! Help me!”_

The door to the music room was open, he cut through it to another hallway. He had to hurry; he had to catch up to her. _“Get away from me, please! GET AWAY! Just leave me alone! LEAVE ME ALONE!”_

Pained screams, a thud, a crack. 

Blake followed the sounds to the stairs and nearly tripped over Jessica. She was—oh God. Oh God. Her body was thrown over the staircase like a broken ragdoll. Her eyes were open and unseeing. Blood poured from her nose and mouth, staining her perfect white collar. Her neck was twisted the wrong way. Red and shiny bump. She was still moving.

Blake knelt down, hands half-extended to her, hovering uncertainly. Her jaw moved, her shoulder shrugged, her head twitched. Above him, cold, chilling words. “I don’t know what... you think you saw.”

Blake shook. His vision became blurry. His throat constricted. A firm hand was placed on his shoulder. “I need you to listen to me, Blake. Listen very carefully.”

He looked up. Father Loutermilch was staring at him intently, his lips pursed distastefully. Like he was stepping over a wad of gum instead of Jessica’s broken body.

The words wouldn’t come out of Blake’s mouth. “You… you…” 

“You’re confused,” explained Father Loutermilch. Serene as ever. “Let’s go back to the music room. I’ll explain everything there.” 

Father Loutermilch placed his hand over his shoulder and led him away from the staircase. Blake’s eyes followed Jessica, craning his neck to look at her until the door closed behind them. He was taken back to the room where he had abandoned Jessica. There had been a struggle. Papers, instruments, and chairs had been knocked over and strewn about the floor. 

They walked to the blackboard, where it was lit. Father Loutermilch knelt on one knee and looked Blake straight in the eye. Blake had chewed his lip raw. Father Loutermilch spoke softly, patiently. Nothing at all like earlier. “Blake, listen to me. Your friend Jessica was very depressed. She had a difficult home life… her mother passed away recently, did you know?”

Blake nodded. 

“And her father was very strict. I wanted to help her... before she strayed from God’s path.” He bowed his head and shook it. “But the Devil had taken a hold of her, and I could not get through. She did this to herself. Do you understand?”

No. “Yes.” 

Father Loutermilch gave him a melancholic smile. “Good. You were always so smart, Blake. I understand you two were very close. Best friends. So I know this might be hard for you to hear.”

Blake remained silent. 

“But you need to be strong, and trust in the Lord, and the plan He has for you. God doesn’t make mistakes, Blake. Isn’t that right?”

Blake nodded.

“Good. Give me your hand.” Blake showed him his hand. Father Loutermilch turned it over and dropped an object in his palm. It was chalk. “I need you to do me a favor. Can you think of a time when you were sad? Depressed, even?”

Was Blake sad now? No, he decided. This was something beyond sadness. It was grief and fear and pain and guilt. Sadness was when your toy broke or when your goldfish died. This was something far more complex than Blake could ever hope to understand.

“I need you to write a message on the board. From Jessica, about how she might have been feeling tonight. You can do it; I know you two exchange notes during class. You know her handwriting better than anyone else.” It was true. His stomach twisted in knots just thinking about it. “If you do this one little thing for me, all will be forgiven. Not just in my eyes, but in the eyes of God as well.”

Blake looked at the chalk. It felt heavier than it should. This, he felt, this was more of a betrayal than leaving the room. But he looked at Father Loutermilch and realized he had no choice. He gave a silent nod and Father Loutermilch beamed, clapping his shoulder.

“Don’t dismay, Blake. Put your trust in God and you will find peace. I’m going to take care of Jessica and I’ll come back to check up on you, alright?”

“Yes,” Blake croaked.

Father Loutermilch left, and Blake was alone in the music room. 

Jessica was dead. She was dead, dead, dead. It felt surreal. A bad dream. Like how the school felt, all dark and twisted and wrong. A parallel universe. His hand trembled under the weight of the chalk. The weight of everything that happened. Father Loutermilch wanted him to write… a suicide note. Jessica’s suicide note. And Blake was too much of a coward to find out what would happen if he didn’t. 

He held his wrist with his other hand to try and control the shaking. No matter how hard he tried, the words would not come to him. Jessica wouldn’t kill herself. Jessica wasn’t depressed. Nothing he could say would make it so. 

But the words came anyway, more his than hers. 

I’m sorry I have to do this.  
You should have loved me.  
You should have helped me.  
Jesus forgive me,  
I don’t know what to do.  
I’m so so sorry.  
-Jessica

Blake blinked, hot tears trailed down his cheeks and onto the floor. He wanted to wail and scream and cry. The feeling nearly overwhelmed him. But as soon as he set the chalk down, he heard the clacking of dress shoes behind him and the weight hands slumped his shoulders. 

“Well done, Blake,” he said. “Very good. I’m finished with Jessica. Come take a look. Then you can go home.”

Home? Home seemed like a million years away, another life. Another universe. Father Loutermilch guided him out of the room and Blake followed, numb. He led him through a series of long winding corridors until—

Blake gasped sharply. His body seized up when he saw what lay at the end of the hall. The harrowing sight of Jessica’s body strung up on a rope. Face turned blue, unseeing eyes staring past him into his soul. Blake tried to run, but Father Loutermilch held him in place with a near painful grip. “Look at her, Blake.”

“No!” Blake turned his head from the sight. Cold hands clamped under his jaw and forced his head forward. “I said look at her, Blake!” 

Blake’s eyes opened against his will as he was forced to gaze on the mangled corpse of his best friend. He cried openly then, a loud sob escaping his lips, crescendoing into a mournful wail. Tears and snot cascading down his face over his mouth. Father Loutermilch kept him in place, preventing him from collapsing. 

“You—you killed her!”

“She hung herself.”

_“You killed her!”_

Father Loutermilch turned him around suddenly, and shook him. “Jessica committed suicide. I know this is hard for you to digest right now, but you need to calm yourself.” 

Blake blubbered and sniffed, struggling to keep his composure. He sucked in his breaths sharply and forced himself to slow down, taking them evenly. 

Father Loutermilch rubbed his upper arms comfortingly. “Good, good,” he spoke in a soft voice. “Now, repeat after me: Jessica hung herself.” 

Blake’s lip trembled.

“Repeat after me, Blake.”

“Lying is a sin,” said Blake.

“It’s not a lie, Blake. She did hang herself. You were here, you saw it.” 

“No, I didn’t.”

 _“Blake.”_ His tone was razor-sharp and cut through the air like a knife. “Jessica committed suicide. She had been planning it for weeks. God hates liars, Blake.”

“I’m not—”

 _“A faithful witness does not lie, but a false witness breathes out lies._ Jessica hung herself. Say it with me.”

“Jessica hung herself.” The words felt like poison in Blake’s mouth.

“Again.”

“Jessica hung herself.”

“Again.”

“Jessica hung herself.”

When Father Loutermilch was finally satisfied, he eased off his grip on Blake. “Do you want to pray with me?” 

No. “Yes.” 

Father Loutermilch knelt before Blake and instructed Blake to do the same. They prayed, Father Loutermilch speaking soft, hurried words. Blake unable to think of anything. There was nothing to plead for. He struggled to think of something to give thanks to. Father Loutermilch’s words never reached his ears. By the time they were done, Blake wasn’t sure if God had listened at all. 

A smile. That was all he got from Father Loutermilch. Jessica was away from the exit, so Blake didn’t have to walk past her to get home. “God loves you, Blake. I forgive you.” 

Those words burned in Blake’s mind like a brand. Jessica hung herself. God loves you. I forgive you.


End file.
